Page 27 of Trick Play
My eyes go wide, but he simply holds my gaze, his own body pulled taut as he waits. I don’t mind initiating or helping direct the action as necessary, but I’ve never had anyone command me to verbalize what I want before giving it to me.
When he starts to pull his hand away, I let out a wordless cry of protest that causes his lips to curl up in an infuriatingly sexy smirk. Jesus, this guy and his endless repertoire of smirks.
“I want you to touch me,” I manage to say, the ache between my legs coming out in the rasp of my voice. “Please.”
His eyes glitter with triumph and desire, and he brushes his fingers between my legs again. “Here? You want me to touch you here?”
When I nod again, he tsks. “Words, Piper. I need your words.”
“Yes,” I breathe. “I want you to touch my pussy.”
His eyebrows jump, but he rewards me by sliding his fingers under the edge of the lacy fabric that’s barely a barrier anyway and tracing my puffy lips that have been slick and aching for what feels like hours already.
“You’re so wet for me, Piper. So fucking wet already.” He watches his fingers as he dips one just inside me and continues tracing all the slippery contours of my center, around my inner labia, up and over my clit, back down again. Exploring. Playing, with no obvious goal in mind at this point, other than to torment me with his fingers while he torments me with his words. “I’m surprised your dress doesn’t have a wet spot on it, because you’ve soaked through your panties already. Not that they’re much protection anyway.” He meets my gaze, his pupils almost fully dilated with arousal, only a thin band of icy blue still visible. “Did you wear these for me, Piper? Were you hoping I’d see them?”
I make a wordless sound, and he tuts again. “Answer, or I stop.”
“You’re such a fucking bastard.”
He grins at me, completely unrepentant. “That’s not an answer.”
“I don’t know,” I say as he brushes my clit again. But then his touch disappears. “Fine!” I shout. “Yes. Are you happy? Is that what you wanted to hear? Yes. I wore them thinking you might see them.”
One finger sinks inside me. “Was that so difficult?” he asks, sounding almost reasonable except for the ragged edge to his voice. “I like them. And the stockings. You’re a walking wet dream.”
I almost laugh. And if he’d said that to me under any other circumstances, I would’ve. But with two of his fingers sliding in and out of me slowly and his thumb brushing my clit, I can’t bring myself to take his words as anything other than a compliment. And from his tone of voice, dark and rough as it may be, he meant it as one.
When he withdraws his hand, I let out a cry of protest that he silences with a kiss. “Don’t worry, baby,” he whispers in my ear as he pulls my dress higher up my torso. “We’re just getting started.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cal
I’m not sure what’s come over me tonight. I’ve never done this before—making a woman explicitly tell me what she wants. Sure, I’ve asked if they want me to do things, but this is another level.
I know what Piper wants. I can read her desire in every line of her body, every tremble, every hitched breath. The way she presses herself against my hand.
But hearing her say it? Making her give me the words?
It ratchets up my arousal several levels.
Holy fuck. I’m gonna explode if I don’t dial it back a notch or two. Because I’m sure as hell not ready for this to be over yet. Hell, we both still have our clothes on. I haven’t even seen her tits yet.
Reaching down, I give my aching hard-on a firm squeeze, trying to back myself down from the edge.
But when she whimpers at the loss of my touch and looks up at me with hazy, lust-drunk eyes, any good it did is immediately wiped away.
“Don’t worry, baby,” I tell her, my voice rasping like my throat is made of gravel as I reach for her again. I can’t keep my hands off her, not with her whimpering for my touch. “We’re just getting started.” I have plans for this chick, this body. Big plans. Plans that may not all be possible tonight, but I’m sure as hell gonna do my best.
I lift her dress up, revealing her perfect tits cupped in lace and satin that matches her panties. With a soft groan at the erotic picture she presents—between the stockings, lacy panties that reveal as much as they cover, and matching bra, she could easily be a pin-up model—I dip my head and trace my tongue around the edge of her bra cup.
She shifts and writhes beneath me, her legs restless, but with how I have her dress bunched, she can’t move her arms much. Smiling against her skin, I take a little bit longer than I was originally planning, dragging my mouth up to her collarbone, drawing out the torturous anticipation before lifting my head and pulling the dress off, the material still warm from her body.
Her dark hair falls around her shoulders, mussed from lying on the bed and my not-too-gentle undressing, and Jesus fuck, she’s gonna kill me. She looks like a fucking sex demon here to suck me dry. I’ve always thought there were worse ways to go, though, so I waste no time stripping off my shirt, undoing only enough buttons so I can pull the whole thing up and over my head.
As I toss it in the corner, she gets up on her knees, her cool hands brushing up my abs and over my pecs to my shoulders, her eyes following their path until her fingers meet behind my neck, stroking the hair at the base of my skull. My hands fall to her hips, settling perfectly on those ripe swells, pulling her closer and covering her mouth with mine once again.
And just like every other time, our kiss just seems to make the flames glow brighter, hotter, and I’m starting to rethink how this night might go. I’d originally planned to make her come at least once with my mouth or my fingers before fucking her. But we might need to have two or three rounds. At least. And that’s just tonight. Because I don’t know how long I can torture myself by drawing this out. I don’t think I have that much control.
